


Cigarettes for breakfast

by elenatria



Series: Hiddlesworth [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Avengers - Freeform, M/M, RPF, Unrequited Love, one-sided, real person fiction - Freeform, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 04:46:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13046784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenatria/pseuds/elenatria
Summary: Chris worries more about Tom than Tom himself.





	Cigarettes for breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> Another Hiddlesworth headcanon.  
> I'm beginning to think my headcanons are a bit random, unconnected, in the sense that this ficlet here takes place during the filming of "Thor" and "The Avengers", whereas the events of [The Moscow pics, all thirty five of them](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13014183/)  
> happen during the Avengers Moscow premiere, and [New marvels, old friends](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12984567/chapters/29685792/)  
> takes place during the filming o "Thor: Ragnarok" and "Infinity war".  
> What a mess.
> 
>  
> 
> [My tumblr](http://elenatria.tumblr.com/)   
> 

                                                                                  

 

Chris had started feeling a little awkward with Tom’s openness.

The two of them met for the first time in 2009 when they were cast for “Thor”. It was all fun and games back then, they would party all night, meet girls, get drunk, carry each other out of the bar, remove shoes and put each other to sleep on the hotel bed (depends on who was sober enough to help with those things). The filming started shortly after, things got serious, but they still spent a lot of time together. Until Chris’ life changed in 2010 and so did his priorities. That would have normally hurt Tom, who kept his feelings secret, if he wasn’t all too happy for his friend’s bliss. Still Chris kept calling him and they would spend hours talking about the development of their characters in “The Avengers”. Most of the times it was Chris making the call. He would always hesitate before dialing Tom’s number but every time he sighed with relief upon hearing Tom’s very posh and british “Hello”, as if a load was lifted off his chest.

“Hey Tom. Heyyyy…”

They talked and talked. Sometimes Tom would say something, or Chris would say something, and there would be long pauses. Until they were done and a heartfelt “goodnight” would come from both ends of the line. 

Chris was more than happy to meet Tom again on the set of “The Avengers” although he knew something was up with his friend. Tom would spend long hours in his trailer supposedly resting or learning his lines. But he had never done this before, not so many hours, not so many days in a row, not so alone. One of those days Chris knocked on Tom’s trailer door. 

“Are you ok, mate?” he said. “You need help with those lines?”

Tom puffed out a cloud of smoke and placed his cigarette on the ashtray, his script filled with notes and yellow highlighter lines, folded on his lap.

“No,” he said as he blew the remaining smoke out of his nostrils. “I don’t need help with those lines.”

“You sure?” Chris asked as he entered the trailer and closed the door behind him. 

“Sure sure,” Tom reassured him and went back to reading his script.

Chris stood next to his friend but it felt as if Tom was miles away, in a place of his own where he didn’t want to be disturbed. Chris searched for things to say.

“I thought you said you would quit smoking,” he joked pointing at the ashtray. “How many have you smoken since morning?”

“Twenty. Four,”Tom quipped as he finally looked Chris in the eyes. “Is that alright with you?”

 _“Is that…”_  Chris shrugged. Apparently talking was worse than silence. “Sure it’s alright with me. Is… something the matter?”

“Nothing is the matter,” Tom sighed and went back to his script. “I just find it hard to concentrate.”

“You,” Chris raised a brow of doubt. “Not concentrating. You must be joking.”

“I am not,” Tom breathed and when their eyes met Chris noticed the black circles and the red eyes. Feverish and red and bigger than ever. Maybe it was Tom’s paleness, maybe it was just Chris’ imagination. And worry.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” 

“After we came back from the pub? I tried.”

Chris looked around, looking for evidence of a wild night spent with one of the girls they met. He had left the pub earlier the previous night seeing that Tom was busy talking and laughing with those girls. He just couldn’t follow his single friend anymore on his amorous adventures. One of the girls, the brunette, seemed to be quite fascinated by “Loki”, the new sex symbol, and was leaning against Tom’s soldier, drunk and ready. 

“No, there’s no one here,” Tom replied to Chris’ unspoken question. “She was quite discreet.”

“You don’t seem very happy about it,” Chris narrowed his eyes.

“What’s to be happy about.”

“Dunno.” Chris shrugged and rubbed his lip. “Listen, do you want to come out for lunch, Chris and Bob said we’ll be meeting at a local lebanese taverna and…”

“I’m quite alright, thank you.” Tom didn’t even bother looking at him.

“Do you… do you want us to bring back something for you to eat? Some fattoush salad, donair maybe..?”

Tom didn’t say a word. He just kept taking puffs on his cigarette and reading the script although Chris could tell he was stuck on the same page since he entered the trailer.

“What’s wrong, Tom?" he muttered. “Tell me what’s wrong. If I knew you’d have such a horrible time with that girl… Lizzy… Libby… what was her name… I wouldn’t have left you alone with her,” he joked.

Tom lifted his eyes and stared back at him. “Funny that you remember her name. I don’t.”

“Well it was a beautiful name. Did you have fun at least?” he said grabbing the lighter from the table next to Tom’s chair and playing with the latch.

Tom got up and put out the cigarette in the ashtray that was filled with stubs.

“Define fun.”

Chris sank his hands in his jacket’s pockets and  tilted his head in annoyance. “Do you  _really_ want me to define it, mate?” he said, alarmed by Tom’s sudden change of mood. “Do you want me to go into details? I don’t like poking my nose into your love life, you know that.”

“No, you never do,” Tom sneered. “Very nice of you. As for your question no, I didn’t have  _fun_. It all stopped being fun a long long time ago.”

“What… what do you mean?” Chris shifted his weight from one foot to the other. 

Tom patted Chris’ both arms reassuringly and grinned but his eyes were cold and distant. “Nothing that you would understand.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Thomas,” Chris exclaimed and brushed back his hair from his forehead, exasperated. “Maybe you shouldn’t have gone out last night, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now. I mean if you didn’t want to go…”

“But I  _did_ want to go out yesterday.  And come back here. Just… not with her.”

Chris suddenly stopped playing with the latch. He was staring at the floor as Tom’s words were sinking in. He knew he could laugh it up, make a joke about Tom choosing the other girl at the pub, then go out and eat his donair with the others. As a matter of fact he wished he had gone straight to that restaurant instead of stopping here first. He found it hard to swallow as he was looking to find the right words, and failing. 

“I… I must go. Tom, I’m sorry…”

“Yes, you must. Go on, you’ll be late. They’re waiting.”

“Yes. They are.” Chris scratched the stubble on his chin and pretended he was finding his shoes fascinating. He put his hands back in his pockets. “I’ll see you later, Tom,” he said lifting his head.

“See you later.” Tom’s warm and calm voice didn’t reveal any of the despair Chris sensed before. Because that’s what this was. Fatigue and despair. 

Chris exited in a hurry and walked away as fast as he could, his heart about to burst. He turned back to look at the trailer, see if Tom was standing at the door. But Tom was nowhere to be seen.

He was probably back on his chair, finally turning the next page of his script, leaving yet another cigarette to die slowly on his lips.


End file.
